


A Murder of Birds

by EmptySurface, silenceia, worldtravellingfly



Series: Ceia, Empty, & Fly’s SIs [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Familiars, Fanart Welcome, Female Friendship, First War with Voldemort, Gen, Hogwarts, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Podfic Welcome, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Secret Identity, Self-Insert, Worldbuilding, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2020-08-09 22:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20124931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmptySurface/pseuds/EmptySurface, https://archiveofourown.org/users/silenceia/pseuds/silenceia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/worldtravellingfly/pseuds/worldtravellingfly
Summary: Three witches, one Dark Lord, and puberty — what could possibly go wrong?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> (No copyright infringement intended.)

-1-

The compartment doors crashed open, causing its two occupants to jump at the unexpected noise. One of which fled to the hat rest overhead, looking severely unimpressed.

  
“Sparrow!” A gangly fifteen year old with a riot of coppery-blonde curls that looked a little like a mix between a bird-nest and a mane launched herself at the aforementioned occupant. “I found you!”

  
Sparrow Fawley _oomph_ed when she was all but tackled, falling backwards against the cushioned seat.

  
“Evidently,” she returned, much quieter than her friend.

  
“How are you?” both asked at the same time.

  
Then, amidst amused snickers, prompted each other to proceed before they themselves could.

  
“I’m fine. No unexpected maimings since we last met,” Larkin shared cheerfully. “Come on, we have to go look for Kestrel!”

  
Kestrel being their other best friend. The third part to their trio. Their best half. Third? Their best third.

  
“No need, I heard you from outside,” a dry voice announced from the door.

  
Kestrel, dark hair pulled back into her customary (lazy) ponytail, raised an eyebrow at them, but there was mischief twinkling in her brown eyes. The red screech owl on her shoulder attempted to hide behind her ear.

  
A moment later, she joined the puppy pile. The owl fluttered up with a panicked face and hid in a corner of the luggage compartment.

“I’m never ever ever letting go,” Kestrel mumbled into someone’s shoulder. Smelled like Larkin’s; Sparrow tended to smell more flowery, with a hint of dust and books and ink, rather than earth and crushed leaves.

  
Sparrow sighed, but hid a grin in someone’s hair.

  
One of the others poked her side, and there was a pointy elbow digging into her belly.  
Nevertheless, it was the most comfortable she’d been in two months, with her best friends so close they were all but lying on top of her.

  
Summers could be very long at the Fawley residence.

Especially these days, Sparrow thought despondently. No matter how much she petted Empress Catherine.

  
“You three are much too old for this,” another voice muttered from the doorway, and the tone made it clear Amelia was rolling her eyes at them.

  
“Thank you for your input, Amelia. It’s not appreciated,” Kestrel Hightower muttered, turning her head to poke out her tongue at their yearmate.

Amelia Bones sighed, looking far more put out than she probably was, and took a seat across from them. Which was telling enough as it was; she could have chosen a different compartment, but hadn’t.  
“I had such hopes that you’d be a bit more mature this year. It’s our OWLs on the line!”

  
All three rolled their eyes and/or snorted at her.

  
“OWL grades aren’t everything. You need to loosen up. Not everything is about school.”

  
Amelia frowned at them, looking faintly insulted.

  
“Besides, maturity is overrated,” Larkin Dunbar told her sagely, somehow managing to look somewhat dignified where she was sprawled across Sparrow’s lap and with Kestrel pinning her legs awkwardly.

  
“Hear, hear,” a newcomer chimed in.

  
Sparrow righted herself, as well as she could, unsure if she wanted to bury herself further under her friends and hide or pretend blissful ignorance.

  
Regardless of her wishes, Sirius Black met her gaze head on, the expression on his face making it more than clear he wasn’t about to let this issue go by unremarked.  
He performed a short bow, a complicated sequence complete with a flourish of his wand.

Looked awfully formal and proper, and somewhat out of character for him.

  
“Welcome to the family, future sister-in-law,” he said sardonically. “May he treat you well.”

  
Duty done, he nodded shortly to everyone and left without another word.

  
Well, Sparrow supposed, this was one way to announce her betrothal to everyone.

  
“So, how was your summer?” she asked, pointedly not commenting on Sirius’ bombshell.

  
Kestrel disentangled herself from the cuddle-pile, righted her ponytail, and drew her wand.

“Black’s going to have to duel me for your hand in marriage,” she announced brightly.

  
“And me!” Larkin added with a sharp grin.

  
“I have a feeling we’re going to be one Slytherin short, this year,” Amelia remarked dryly, eyeing the two girls somewhat warily, more than aware they were both deadly serious. “Please don’t make me have to report you for picking on a younger student.”

  
Kestrel offered her arm to Larkin in a surprisingly suave move. “Care to join me, dear?”

  
“For you? Always,” Larkin said with ease.

  
Both of them ignored Amelia’s words.

  
“You’re going to make me blush,” Sparrow said weakly, though her cheeks were already a charming pink.

  
“Too late for that, I think,” Larkin teased her gently, before a serious expression settled on her face. “But honestly. _Black_?” she questioned.

  
“Gonna go out on a limb and guess that dearest Sparrow had no input in that life-changing decision,” Kestrel surmised wryly. Then, brighter, “Oh well! I’m sure they’ll reconsider once Black loses his-”

  
“_Kess_!”

  
Amelia stared. “She’s supposed to be the quiet and nice one.”

  
“It’s a lie she’s been carefully cultivating since first year,” Larkin informed her glibly, not so much as blinking. “I’m still not sure how people can fall for it. Kestrel’s practically evil.”

  
“Says you,” Kestrel sniffed with mock-offense. “But I suppose we have to counter Sparrow’s niceness somehow.” Then she added, like an afterthought, “‘Cultivating’ is a strong word. Stay mostly quiet, smile a little, and suddenly everyone’s making assumptions about your rational personality.”

  
“Very true.” Larkin nodded gravely, while Sparrow snorted inelegantly.

  
“You cannot be speaking from experience, Dunbar,” Amelia commented, sending her an incredulous look.

  
“What do you mean?” Larkin asked with genuine puzzlement, feeling like she’d missed a step in the conversation. She hadn’t expected this turn.

  
“I have to go! Prefect meeting!” Amelia fled the compartment hastily. Without answering her question.

  
“Are any of us Prefects?” Kestrel asked, momentarily distracted from her quest.

  
“You really think there’d be a choice between Sparrow, me, and Amelia?” Larkin questioned incredulously.

  
“...you’ve got a point,” Kestrel agreed with a heavy dose of amusement colouring her voice. “But am I a Prefect, I wonder. I may have misplaced a few school letters. So I don’t know.”

  
This surprised nobody. Kestrel was a terribly unorganised Ravenclaw, but had somehow been settled with a reputation for being a Responsible Student among the teachers.

  
Probably had something to do with her close proximity to Larkin and Sparrow; the Trouble Duo. In comparison, Kestrel looked positively saintly to the untrained eye. Which definitely included some of their professors. But surely, Flitwick would know better?

  
Sparrow offered her a one-armed hug, seeing as her other was kind of pinned under Larkin’s butt.

  
“They wouldn’t!” Larkin gasped dramatically, leaning towards her friend with an overly concerned expression, which incidentally freed Sparrow’s arm.

  
“I’m sure we can arrange something if that turns out to be the case,” Sparrow put in with a small, ominous smile, absently massaging her hand to encourage the blood to flow back, which would hopefully get rid of the pins and needles currently prickling along the limb. “Most of the professors are reasonable.”

  
“I would be allowed to break curfew though,” Kestrel pointed out, then promptly shuddered. “When I could be _sleeping_.”

  
“Eh, we’ll take up our yearly tradition of abducting you to the Hufflepuff dorms when you sleep too little,” Larkin dismissed easily. “I’ll sit on you at the same time as I sit on Sparrow in an attempt to cure her occasional insomnia.”

  
“Just because we have bird names doesn’t mean you have to act like a nesting mother, Lark,” Sparrow pointed out with suppressed laughter in her voice. This was a much nicer conversation than dwelling on her recent betrothal.

  
“I’m not sure I can let you ‘break into’ the Ravenclaw common room now,” Kestrel sighed with overdone regret.

  
Larkin looked outraged.

  
“Good thing we never cared much for the rules,” Sparrow commented blandly, inspecting her nails nonchalantly. “Besides, you need me to get you into your dorm.”

  
That was true. Kestrel was not good at solving riddles. Plus, the stupid door knocker didn’t like her much.

  
“I know Callum isn’t attending any more, but do you think we could have a sleepover in the Slytherin common room?” Larkin asked innocently, though neither of them missed how her eyes glinted.

  
“Well, if I was indeed a Prefect, I could theoretically get permission to go into the Slytherin dorms, provided I had reason and evidence to believe a member of Slytherin to have wronged one of my charges. I’d be allowed to look for further evidence in their personal effects, though under the supervision of Slytherin’s head of house,” Kestrel answered thoughtfully. “Then I could leave an eavesdropping charm near the entrance which would yield me the password.”

  
“Sounds good. And it’s not gonna be hard to find an opportunity,” Larkin muttered with a darkening frown. “Things have been turning less and less hopeful, lately, if you ask me.”

  
Empress Cat hissed from her perch over their heads.

  
“We always knew this was coming,” Sparrow said softly, absentmindedly playing with the charm of her necklace, not acknowledging her cat, for now.

  
“I’m just glad Callum won’t have to put up with the rest of Slytherin now, what with the political climate and some of the things that happened last year.” Larkin grimaced unhappily.

  
“I’m grateful that neither Charles nor Luke ever had to deal with that bullshit,” Sparrow agreed, thinking about her brothers.

  
One of whom had recently gotten a position in the Department for International Magical Cooperation. The family was very proud.

  
Sparrow inwardly rolled her eyes.

  
Charles was a lovable extrovert, but at heart deeply insecure and easily led. She was quietly worried about someone taking advantage.

  
“What are we going to do about the roach problem this year?”

  
“Roach problem?” Kestrel asked with a confused frown, jarred out of plotting. “Which roaches exactly are we talking about?” Because ‘roach’ could metaphorically apply to a lot of things. “Also, I’ve decided to go to the Prefects’ meeting just in case I am one or otherwise to eavesdrop. If Slytherin’s got Death Eater Prefects… well. We’ll want to know about it.”

  
“Sounds like a plan.”

  
Sparrow held out her hand for a fistbump. “All the roaches. Big and small. Especially the really disgusting ones.”

  
Kestrel bumped their fists together.

  
“Good luck!”

  
“Don’t let the snakes bite,” Sparrow grinned, “I’m the jealous kind.”

  
Amelia, who’d just stepped back into the compartment and had clearly heard the tail-end of that exchange, snorted.  
“Let’s hope your betrothed isn’t,” she said with a pointed look at Sparrow.

  
Larkin threw a piece of scrunched up paper at her. It might have fallen out of her pocket in her earlier ambush.  
“Low blow, Bones.”

  
Amelia sighed. “I’ll never understand how such different personalities could align to form your friendship.”

  
Most of the castle seemed to find it a great mystery, so Amelia wasn’t exactly alone in that.

  
“Did you come back for a reason, or just to comment on our personalities?” Larkin questioned, gazing steadily at the girl, who she was sure had said something about an important meeting she had to attend.

  
“I came to get Kestrel,” Amelia revealed promptly. “Pandora voiced a small measure of concern about whether you’d know about having to be there or not,” she said, looking completely deadpan.

  
Larkin snickered.

  
“You can fool the rest of the school, but your Housemates know your secret!” she all but cackled, reaching out to shove Kestrel playfully.

  
“Like you’re anyone to talk,” the girl huffed, making a show of looking offended. She heaved a sigh. “So I need to go. Don’t set the train on fire, okay?”

  
“No promises,” Sparrow returned solemnly, looking very prim and proper where she sat, hands clasped neatly in her lap.

  
Larkin, her complete opposite, was sprawled out in her seat, shoes propped up on the opposite seat and hair falling out of the messy bun she seemed to have attempted to contain it in, several curls dangling in front of her face.

  
Amelia looked like she wasn’t sure if she’d meant that in a literal sense or not, but seemed determined not to ask.

  
Kestrel smiled brightly, feeling suitably accomplished.

  
“Shall we?” she asked, motioning at the corridor outside, and the waiting meeting.

  
Amelia nodded, sent Larkin and Sparrow one last dubious look, and then led the way to the front of the train.

  
Kestrel followed and wondered who the prefects for the other Houses were.

* * *

  
“This is a disaster,” Kestrel announced when she came back, and then took in what she was actually looking at.

  
Sparrow had been pushed back against the window, with Larkin all but bodily pinning her there.

  
Both girls had turned to stare at her when she’d slid the door open, effectively freezing.

  
Empress Cat had curled up on the hat rack, looking like a miniature tiger who was about to roll her eyes at them all. She was one to judge - she basically sat on Hedda, Kestrel’s eternally confused/panicked owl.

  
Blinking at her friends, Kestrel finally spotted what must have prompted this… situation.

  
Sparrow’s right hand was held aloft over her head, clutching Larkin’s wand, and Larkin must have all but climbed all over the girl to take it back.

  
A small giggle slipped out of Kestrel’s mouth before she smothered it back with a serious face and acted like nothing at all was out of the ordinary.

  
Amelia, standing beside her, looked entirely too long-suffering and unsurprised.  
To be fair, she did share a dorm with these two lunatics.

  
“What’s a disaster?” Larkin asked, finally snatching her wand back and settling down on the seat, folding her feet in towards her hips and holding her ankles, giving Kestrel a curious look. It was a bit hard to take her seriously when she’d threaded her wand into the mess she called hair, though.  
She also seemed to have discarded her shoes sometime after they’d left.

  
Sparrow straightened out her clothes with dignified poise, fooling absolutely none of them.  
She decided to rescue her judgmental Maine Coon from the hat rack before the thing broke.  
Empress Cat was a _legend_, but she was also 10 kg of fluffy fur, I’m Judging You™, and Vengeance.  
The feline happily sprawled all over her lap, rubbing her head against her belly.

  
Hedda fluttered over to Kestrel, who hugged her to her chest, one hand running soothingly over the slightly askew feathers on her head.

  
“The Slytherin Prefects, that’s what!” Kestrel got back to the matter at hand.

  
“Who’s Gryffindor’s?” Sparrow interjected curiously, one hand stroking Cat’s belly.

  
“Evans and Lupin, predictably, but that’s not important!” Kestrel waved the question aside impatiently, striding in to finally sit down, choosing the seat opposite Sparrow, by the window.

  
Amelia claimed the one next to her, checking it beforehand for any potential critters.

  
With Larkin in the same space, you just never knew. (You only made the mistake of almost sitting on Samantha once.)

  
“Please tell me it’s not Snape.”

  
“Nope, not him. _Worse_.”

  
“Who could possibly be _worse_?” Sparrow wondered, carding her fingers through Empress Cat’s soft fur.

  
Severus Snape considered them the female Marauders and treated them similarly to the Gryffindor foursome - with hatred and utter disdain.

  
They were _mourning_ his loss.

  
It was fifth year, Lily Evans would have him under control for a little while more - having him as a prefect would have been preferable to who they’d ended up with instead.

  
Kestrel groaned. “_Rookwood_.”

  
Even Amelia grimaced with distaste at the mention of the boy.

  
Theodore Rookwood was a complete ass. He bullied younger students, had a thing for ‘flirting’ with all three of the trio, and there were rumors to the effect of him having sexually assaulted several girls.  
From all Houses. Of any blood status - though never the rich pure blooded ones.

  
“Who the fuck thought that was a good idea?” Sparrow asked, glaring at a spot on the wall.

  
“Slughorn,” both Kestrel and Larkin said, completely synchronized.

  
“Why haven’t we gotten him fired yet?”

  
“Because he’s useful and easily manipulated,” Kestrel offered, resting the side of her face against the window. Hedda cuddled closer.

  
In the background, Amelia heaved a quiet sigh, but didn’t even try to correct them.

  
Larkin whispered something to Samantha, who… stuck her head up the neck of her shirt, which solved the mystery of where the reptile was currently lurking.  
Everyone politely pretended not to notice the liberal sprinkling of death threats.

  
“And the other one?” Larkin asked once she was done venting to her scaly little friend.

  
“Josephine Flint.”

  
“Huh.” Larkin blinked. “Not as bad as it could have been. Flint can actually be decent when she wants to be.” She shrugged.

  
Which was surprising, considering that she was most likely Marcus Flint’s future aunt.  
Maybe all the Dark Magic exposure - especially the Cruciatus - messed with your brain?

  
Sparrow really wasn’t tempted to experiment to confirm her theory. Some things were better left to mystery.

  
Not that close quarters with Walburga Black would make that any easier, if this betrothal ever came to fruition.

  
Larkin elbowed her. “I know that look; get your mind back out of the gutter!”

  
“Sorry.”

  
Amelia laughed and muttered something about mind-reading everyone else politely pretended not to hear.

  
“You can contemplate the advantages of your betrothed’s butt at length later.”

  
“He’s a gangly idiot kid who likes to hang around with future criminals. No thanks.”

  
Kestrel threw herself onto the bench and regretted it - trains in the Seventies were not particularly comfortable. Cushioning charms were a must. “Amelia, we’re going to plot until I have to go on patrol. If you want plausible deniability-”

  
Amelia all but disapparated.

“Huh,” Larkin said with slightly wide eyes before she closed the compartment’s door with a flick of her wand and cast the needed locking charms and privacy spells.

  
“And let’s go back to cuddling,” Kestrel added. “I missed you.”

  
“Missed you, too.”

  
Larkin cooed at them, making grabby hands in Kestrel’s direction and began to absently hum something under her breath the moment she got to wrap her friend up in a hug.

  
It was a wonderful way to spend their last few free hours in peace.

  
Before they’d have to worry about images, reputations, or kids with fucked up ideologies out for other kids’ blood.

  
It would have to be enough, to last them until Christmas.


	2. Chapter 2

Larkin didn’t bother to tie her tie for the feast. It would only get untangled at first opportunity anyway. And then dip into her pudding bowl. She knew how these things worked.

Kestrel looked good, everything in order, if slightly askew. Aside from the missing badge, she made for a good prefect/role model. She had a button in her hand now, probably wondering if she should transfigure it into something badge-like.

The fifth year prefects traditionally led the firsties to the dorms, and the little ones would probably need a visual cue.

Oh dear. She might have to try and solve the riddle in front of the tiny people. 

Meanwhile, Sparrow added a glittering enchanted hair clip to the fancy, easy-looking updo she sported. It was a well crafted tree sparrow she’d received for her last birthday. 

Charlie always gave her the best presents, out of her family. 

Larkin didn’t so much as glance down at herself, and her bun had steadily unravelled over the last few hours, but she neither seemed to notice or care.

Instead, she coaxed Samantha out of her clothes until the snake could drape comfortably over her shoulders, her tail slowly curling lovingly around her throat in what most other -sane- people would have called a threatening manner, but that Larkin no doubt would have called a gentle embrace.

“Lark, your shoes,” Sparrow reminded with an amused smirk, watching the girl startle.

“What shoes?” she mumbled, distracted by the importance of cooing at her pet.

“_Your _ shoes. Which you are currently not wearing,” Sparrow clarified patiently. “Sprout is going to be exasperated if you forget them again. Remember last year? I could recite the speech about setting a good example for the firsties if you want?” she offered oh so generously.

Larkin made a disgruntled face, but dutifully bent down to retrieve her shoes from under one of the seats.

“I don’t get the fuss. The house-elves retrieve all the trunks and pets anyway; it’s not like one pair of shoes makes a difference.”

“I doubt that’s the issue here,” Kestrel laughed. “It’s more about appearances and showing up to the Feast wearing shoes. And the appropriate uniform.”

“I always wear the uniform!” Larkin protested, looking mildly vexed at the perceived accusation.

“Yes, dear, but you sometimes show up with some interesting additions,” Sparrow drawled. “Like mud. Feathers. Blood. Dragon dung. I could go on.” 

Larkin sniffed with great dignity and elected not to answer.

They walked off the train towards the carriages together, arms linked. 

When they reached them, Larkin broke off to greet the closest thestral, but other than that, nothing out of the ordinary happened.

It was when they reached the castle that things got interesting, and the whispers followed the three of them into the Great Hall.

It became rather obvious that The News had traveled quickly, as they were drawing stares from every side. 

This must be what celebrities felt like. 

All three of them could have happily gone without that revelation. 

Larkin and Kestrel boxed in Sparrow, glaring back at those who looked to be trying to incinerate their friend with just their eyes. 

Which... they could happily have Regulus Black as their betrothed. Or his family, for that matter. 

The only tears Sparrow would shed, should he/they change their minds, were in relief.

Not that that was likely, with the betrothal contract signed and sealed.

“I’ll set Sam on them,” Larkin offered magnanimously. “Everyone knows she wanders off on her own occasionally. It’ll definitely be an accident.”

Sparrow probably looked suspiciously touched - and tempted. She knew her friends could be surprisingly bloodthirsty and vicious to others.

...surprising to anyone that didn’t know her well, that was. 

Amelia had wondered how three such different people could share this close a friendship, but the truth was, in essence Kestrel, Larkin, and Sparrow were quite similar.

It was just the way they _ expressed _ themselves that differed.

They took their usual start-of-the-year seats. It was lucky that the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables stood next to each other, that way the three could sit together even at the Welcoming Feast without attracting disapproving frowns.

Not that that would have stopped them, but they avoided unnecessary attention, this way. (As the year progressed, they would get progressively bolder, as always.)

But at this time, it was smarter to sit closer to the teacher’s table. For one, they got prime view of the new batch of students. For another, overhearing the teachers’ conversations would be _ enlightening _ after the long summer holidays. And finally, they’d be safer from rude slurs and/or spellfire.

Kestrel _ never _ sat with her back to the Slytherin table. Her friends had to, though, if they wanted to be in speaking distance. But then, Kestrel would throw herself between anything that tried to attack them, if she couldn’t manage a shield charm.

Things progressed as they usually did during the Feast. 

The terrified Firsties were led in by McGonagall. The Hat sang its’ song and then Sorted the children.

It wasn’t until the Feast was wrapping up that things diverted from the norm.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to come with?” Sparrow offered with a small, amused smirk.

Kestrel pouted at her. “I’m not gonna be the only Prefect there; it’ll be fine. And I don’t want you to get detentions before the school year has even officially started.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Larkin snickered.

“I’m a good friend,” Kestrel agreed, getting to her feet to help her fellow fifth year Prefect herd the children together. Ethan was starting to look panicked over there, so she dutifully hurried up to go help him. Poor guy was _ cripplingly _ shy. Not that she was a whole lot better. 

“See you two tomorrow!” she called back to her friends.

“Good luck!” Larkin shouted back, her voice echoing in the Hall, which had _ definitely _ been on purpose.

When Kestrel disappeared off with the first years, Sparrow got to her feet as well, nudging Larkin to follow suit.

“We should go to bed, as well,” she said pointedly, glancing around suspiciously at the moving students, not at all forgetting the ones that had looked tempted to try and curse her earlier.

“I am pretty tired,” Larkin agreed. “Got up really early this morning; one of the foals is sick,” she explained at Sparrow’s questioning look.

“Oh no. One of the Aethonans?”

“A Granian,” Larkin answered sorrowfully. “She _ should _ be okay, but you never know with these things.”

They were making their way through familiar corridors now, easily sidestepping that particular false step in the staircase down to the dungeon.

They’d all gotten stuck in that one several times each before they’d gotten used to it. (Kestrel _ still _ got stuck, daydreamer that she was when she didn’t remember to concentrate on her surroundings. She watched out for attacks, not her own feet.)

Unlike Slytherin’s part of the dungeon, the Hufflepuff part of the castle was far less intimidating and hostile. Less cold and damp, too, due to being located on the other side from the lake. Larkin also attributed it to the proximity to the kitchens and the fact that house-elves -and their magic- were like bundles of warm joy.

So long as people treated them like actual people and not property, at least.

Walking down the sloping hole down into the Badger Den, Sparrow and Larkin wasted no time in crossing the common room and retreating to their dorm.

It offered the most privacy in the castle, and Amelia would no doubt be busy with the small group of children she was currently responsible for a while longer.

Larkin closed the door behind them and easily cast a handful of useful spells, and then turned to face Sparrow with a solemn expression on her features, eyes darkened into almost embers.

“What’s really going on, Sparrow?”

Sparrow sighed and slumped down to sit on her bed. “The Blacks wanted to secure a _suitable_ witch for Regulus,” she grimaced, “and I suppose Arcturus wanted to look outside of their closest relatives, since Orion and Walburga,” she gestured with a hand, suppressing a shudder, because, _second_ _cousins_, “and he reached out to Father.” She was silent a moment. “I’m his only daughter, and I’m apparently old enough. And an alliance with the _Blacks_ isn’t something he’d pass up. Even if they only consider me good enough for the _Spare_.”

Larkin’s eyes flashed with fury for a second, before she walked up to Sparrow to wrap her in a tight hug.

“We’ll deal with this. One way or another,” she promised. “We’ve made plans, but we’ll either change them or tweak them to accommodate this change. It’s all up to what you want, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sparrow whispered, blinking back tears, all of a sudden. “I love you, you know that, right?”

“Of course,” Larkin told her, no hesitation. “I love you, too. As does Kess.” She sat down on Sparrow’s bed. “We’ll do pretty much anything for you,” she said seriously.

And it was an honest, genuine statement; Sparrow was pretty sure Larkin would commit murder for her and dispose of the body after without much comment.

Kestrel would beat up anyone at a dropped word from her without so much as blinking. (And help Larkin with the previously mentioned murder, too.)

Not that Sparrow wouldn’t reciprocate, but sometimes, it just overwhelmed her, how much she loved these two women.

How grateful and happy she was that they were _ here _, with her.

“Wanna sleep?” Larkin asked, eyeing her knowingly.

Sparrow managed a weak smile; her friend knew her too well.

She hadn’t managed to sleep much in the last few weeks. Ever since Father had told her the ‘Wonderful news’.

“Yes, please,” she said. “Can we-”

“I’m sleeping here with you,” Larkin declared before she could finish asking. “I’d go kidnap Kestrel to join in, but I’m not sure Flitwick will appreciate it now she’s a Prefect and all. Better wait with that at least until tomorrow, when her initial responsibilities have been taken care of.” She grinned sharply.

“We don’t want to scar the children for life,” Sparrow agreed with a faint laugh.

“I have been told I can look quite frightening.” Larkin bared her teeth in a fierce grin, making her intensely orange eyes gleam eerily.

Sparrow had always found them beautiful, though.

Callum and Wren’s eyes were more amber, but the family trait was present in them as well. Just not quite so pronounced.

“You’re only frightening when you want to be, Lark,” Sparrow told her, watching Larkin’s expression soften with fondness.

“Where’s Cat?”

Sparrow smirked proudly. “Probably terrorizing the student population already.”

“Bed,” Larkin declared again, getting off Sparrow’s mattress and walking over to her own trunk to retrieve her sleep wear.

They could unpack tomorrow.

.

“Why does your badge look weird?” a tiny girl with pigtails asked Kestrel, tugging on her sleeve with surprising boldness for a Ravenclaw Firstie on her first night in the castle.

“Because nifflers took it so they could play with it,” she replied absently. 

She’d read The Hobbit over the holidays, surely that would be enough preparation for solving riddles, right?

Ethan wasn’t great at solving them either, was the problem.

Maybe she should have taken Sparrow up on her offer, anyway?

“What’s a niffler?” a boy asked curiously.

“They’re creatures that like shiny things,” she replied. A look at the shoes of the boy told her that he was most definitely muggleborn. They had _ rubber soles_. That _ squeaked_. “Sort of look like platypuses, but with black fur, and they have pouches in which they can store a vast amount of valuables.”

“Like kangaroos?” the boy asked.

“Like kangaroos,” she agreed. “Except with _ magic_. And they _ love _ shiny things.” Kestrel confirmed with a brief flash of intense amusement.

“What’s a kangaroo?” another Firstie asked curiously, no doubt a pureblood.

“They live in Australia and they are terrifying,” she recited knowledge she could vaguely remember from another life. “If you see them at the zoo and think they’re adorable, they’re not kangaroos. They can punch and kick _ really _ hard, they are _ very _ fast, and they have a pouch in which they raise their young during the infancy stage.”

This was the House of those who loved learning, which… Kestrel supposed the barrage of questions that followed wasn’t entirely unexpected.

Why couldn’t they ask Ethan, though? He was _ way _ more approachable!

Kestrel reminded herself to forward the most curious ones to Larkin first thing, because creatures and animals of all sorts were definitely _ her _ area of expertise and she’d _ love _ to corrupt a few minions.

Then they arrived in front of The Door.

“And now for the fun part!” she announced with forced cheer and no small amount of performance anxiety and dread. “Our house is all about using our minds - it’s not exactly about being smart and knowing everything, but to _ use _ what we have to find the solution to any problem. Which is why our house is guarded by _ this._” She pointed at the eagle-shaped door knocker. “He gives you a riddle and if you give it a good answer, then the door opens.”

“Aren’t the other Houses the same?” the muggleborn boy from earlier asked.

“Is it really a _ he,” _the pureblood kid wanted to know. 

Ethan finally decided to jump in. “The other houses have passwords, but that’s just memorisation and we’re above that.” He said this through gritted teeth and stubborn pride, because the door knocker was _ annoying _ but they would not acknowledge it. “And he has never made a preference for any gender known. We call him _ he _ because his voice is distinctly masculine and its face is rendered in such a way that it indicates male gender.” 

Kestrel took a deep breath. “My friend calls him ‘Ralf’, but I prefer ‘Bob’,” slipped out before she could stop herself.

“That’s pigeonholing!” the pureblood chirped. 

“Start a campaign to raise awareness, then,” she recommended blandly before she grabbed Bob’s face and knocked gently. She figured if she was nice about knocking, maybe he’d be nice right back and give her a riddle she could actually solve.

“I need to eat, or I starve. I need to breathe, or I suffocate. But if I drink water, I die. What am I?” Bob asked.

Kestrel chanced a look at Ethan. He’d mysteriously faded into the background. No help there.

Whose idea was it again to make two background characters prefects?

“Okay then,” she told her firsties with a beaming grin because _ fake it till you make it _ had gotten her in this stupid situation in the first place, it better get her through it, too. “I will now show you the strategies that _ don’t _ work. This will be very educational.” She turned to Bob. “A person with a glass of poisoned water,” she told him.

Nothing happened. “As you will soon notice, literal answers rarely get you anywhere. Bob plays favourites. If my friend Sparrow had asked, he’d let us in no problem.” 

“I think he looks like a Ralf,” a girl mumbled shyly.

Kestrel shrugged. “Call him whatever you like. Anyway!” She pointed at Bob. “A person with a water allergy!”

Bob gave her a _ judging _ look. “Incorrect,” he intoned, and the muggleborn students broke into excited whispers because _ talking door knocker _.

“As you just witnessed,” Kestrel announced. “Stupid answers don’t work either.” Maybe she should try some of Larkin’s flattery?

Last resort, she decided. Bob didn’t _ deserve _ flattery.

“Non-magical fresh-water fish don’t drink,” she told Bob. “They die from it. It’s because of their osmoregulation.” Thank you, physiology lectures in a previous life!

Bob did not move. 

The _ asshole._

“He doesn’t accept non-magical knowledge because he doesn’t know if you’re saying the truth,” she turned to lecture her charges, smiling serenely because it was that or groan in frustration. Her cheeks felt hot, but she was one of those rare people who just… didn’t blush. Even when they felt like they were one step from spontaneous combustion.

Combustion-

She whirled around and pointed a finger at the bronze eagle. “_ Fire _ , you absolute _ cabbage _!” Kestrel was not allowed to swear around tiny people.

Bob gave her a decidedly mulish look. The door swung open.

The firsties broke into applause. Ethan congratulated her. Kestrel beamed. Wait until she told Sparrow and Lark! They’d be _ so proud! _

They entered into the common room, and Kestrel let the small ones take a minute to take everything in and be awed.

“Okay, ground rules. First of all, we have House Pride. If anyone calls you a nerd, it’s a compliment. Sort of like if anyone calls a Hufflepuff a sissy, you’ll find yourself with the grudge of the whole House; the loyalty part isn’t false advertisement. Don’t do it.” Something Kestrel felt rightfully smug about. “Second, we do not read books at Quidditch matches. You may get a bludger to the face and lose the book. Both are _ unpleasant _.”

It was a mistake you only made once, anyway.

“But what do we _ do _ at Quidditch matches if we can’t read?” a tiny girl asked.

Kestrel drew to her full height. It was very average. “We _ cheer _ ,” she answered gravely. “We _ cheer _ , and we do it _ well _.” 

Several of the kids looked mildly confused and uncomfortable at the concept.

There was one boy in the back who looked ecstatic, though, so that was something. The Quidditch Captain would be glad for the eventual addition to the team.

“Also, we have study sessions three times a week, but you can ask any of the upper years for help anytime if you need it. Just remember to be polite, and sometimes, the answer will be either no, not now, or I don’t know. We also have ask sessions on Friday evenings where you can ask questions about school life and cultural differences. Oh,” she remembered. “Our head of house is Professor Flitwick. He’s the best and the nicest, you can go to him anytime. You can also come to me and Ethan-”

“Ethan and I,” some kid corrected instantly-

“And we’ll do what we can to help,” she finished. “Things in the Wizarding World aren’t great right now, but we’ll talk about that tomorrow. It’s getting late. Boys, please follow Ethan, girls, with me.”

Instantly, two girls attached themselves to one of her hands each, which, _ what _ . Why was this _ happening _ to her. What did she _ do _?

_ ...pretend they’re Larkin, Kess. You can do it _, she told herself and marched off towards the First Year dorms.

By the time she _ finally _ managed to herd all the girls to bed, it was late and Kestrel was pretty sure she’d dream about an alarming assortment of animals tonight.

It was, however, not yet time to sleep. She drew the curtains of her bed shut before she pulled out a vial with brightly shining liquid from one of her many extended-space pockets. From another, a shrunken typewriter.

The _ Hogwash, _otherwise known as the school newspaper she and Xenophilius Lovegood had founded, wouldn’t write itself after all, and the start of school was a Big Event.

There were also things the new firsties would need to know, especially those with less dutiful or misinformed, biased prefects. 

She’d need to remember to ask Amelia about any questions the new Hufflepuffs had asked, tomorrow, too. That usually gave her ideas.

A summary of the war so far and what it was about was definitely a must. 

But then, they weren’t calling it a war yet. Not quite.They would by the time graduation arrived, they were pretty sure.

A matter for another time.

Hm… perhaps a quick overview over wizarding society and government wouldn’t be remiss, for the muggleborns. Then again, was that really a matter for the first issue of the year? She’d have to ask someone.

And she needed to implement a Q&A page. 

Also, Dumbledore had been serving _ looks _ at the feast.

Hadn’t he mentioned something last year about being interested in writing something for the fashion column?

Then she’d have to remind Larkin to write her Creature column, because she sometimes forgot.

And she needed to remember to interview a ghost or two. Actually, all the house ghosts, for the start of year. Maybe? But the Bloody Baron was _ scary._

...It was going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Larkin has an adventure. Or five. A cow is hugged and bananas given for a job well done. Sparrow gets an invitation to tea. Kestrel is haunted by kids and dives headfirst into sleep deprivation.

#  -3-

Larkin liked to sleep in, but the occasions when she  _ could _ were rare, this time around.

The family business and her own interests more often than not had her out of bed before the sun had risen. Which wasn’t  _ bad! _ Not at all, but… Larkin appreciated her sleep.

Waking up next to a sleeping Sparrow was nice and familiar. 

One of Sparrow’s arms was draped loosely over her stomach, and her breath tickled the skin of her throat with every slow, steady exhalation.

At some point during the night, the silver tabby her friend loved so much had curled up between them too. Empress Catherine was nice enough to refrain from sleeping on their backs ever since the Breathing Incident. 

Larkin slipped from beneath the covers and out of the bed, stretching with a suppressed shiver and then padded over to the bathroom.

Toilet, a quick shower, and she’d be set.

Half an hour later, Larkin was dressed and making her way out of the Hufflepuff dungeon.

One of the best things about being a Hufflepuff, she mused, was the proximity to the kitchens.

“Miss Larkin!” one of the house-elves exclaimed happily the moment she’d tickled the pear on the painting hiding the entrance and she was visible from inside.

“Tibby!” Larkin returned, just as joyfully, crouching down and pulling the little female into a warm hug. “How’s the summer been? The cows breaking out of their pens again?” she asked with a smile, letting Tibby go to look at her.

Tibby’s face was bright red with an interesting mix of happiness and embarrassment, but she nodded her head so hard her ears flapped.

“Theys always is, miss,” she squeaked. “Now, miss Larkin is getting far too old for this,” she added in a hushed voice, motioning between them with a renewed blush. “Is not  _ proper _ for young lady to be huggsing the house-elves.”

“Tibby, I hug all my friends, and I don’t make a habit of following the rules, anyway,” she said with an unapologetic smile. “Do you have some breakfast for me?”

“Checking on theys animals again, miss?” Tibby asked, back to being enthusiastic.

Tibby and three other house-elves had a section of table set for her in five seconds flat.

“I always feel better after I’ve roamed a bit before class,” she said, settling down to eat. She also wanted to check on all the animals she hadn’t seen in almost three months.  _ Forever. _

It was an itch she needed to scratch.

It was the same whenever she got home, too.

“Thank you all for the food! It was the best breakfast yet!” she called loudly into the room before she left when she was done.

Several happy and or embarrassed squeaks and a scattered few “Thank yous, miss!” answered her and Larkin couldn’t help but grin.

She loved house-elves.

They were all such pure, happy souls you couldn’t help but adore them.

Stomach full, Larkin easily set off towards the closest exit and then headed straight for the Forbidden Forest.

Some of the unicorns had had foals this spring, and then there were the thestrals. Check how far the Acromantula had attempted to extend their nest and territory.

Maybe she could say hello to Hagrid, if she spotted him, too?

Larkin just wanted to get a  _ feel _ for the Forest, because that was just as much home as Hogwarts was.

If she was quick, she could probably run up to take a look at the farm animals, too.

Smiling eagerly to herself, Larkin slipped outside into the crisp morning air, the sky just about lighting with dawn and long fingers of mist trailing over the grounds.

The Black Lake was mirror smooth and the trees of the Forbidden Forest rose like silent, ancient sentries from the grass.

Larkin took a deep breath, stretched out her legs and then took off at a brisk jog.

She had a lot of ground to cover before breakfast.

Or would that be second breakfast?

.

Feeling nicely tired and a little bit sore, Larkin ambled into the Great Hall, easily ignoring the attention of the students around her as she scanned the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables for her two friends.

She’d had a very productive morning.

Kestrel had apparently had a very productive night, if the messiness of her ponytail, the way she rubbed her eyes, and the urgency with which her owl fussed over her were any indication. Larkin would have to abduct her for real tonight, because just three hours of sleep two nights in a row wasn’t good for a growing girl.

“Good morning,” she greeted pleasantly when she reached the spot of the Ravenclaw table the two girls were occupying.

“Morning,” Kestrel grunted, looking like she was contemplating the merits of falling asleep in her breakfast.

“Good morning,” Sparrow returned pleasantly, looking far more well-rested this morning than she’d done the day before.

The contrast from Kestrel was even more blatant.

Larkin smiled and made to take a seat beside Sparrow.

“Wait,” her friend’s voice stopped her in her tracks, making her freeze on instinct.

“What?” she asked, turning her attention to her fellow Hufflepuff.

Sparrow was too busy inspecting her clothes to meet her gaze, though.

Larkin blinked and glanced down on herself.

“Is that fur?” Sparrow questioned with narrowed eyes, staring at the heavy sprinkling of hairs sticking to her robes.

“Yes.”

“From what sort of animal?” 

“Cow.”

“That’s why you smell like a barn,” Sparrow concluded, tone dry, drawing her cedar wand with slow, deliberate movements. “Any cuts or scrapes?” she questioned briskly.

Larkin tilted her head. “Don’t think so,” she said a moment later. “Now get it over with; I want to eat!”

“You should have thought of that  _ before _ you went and rubbed yourself all over a  _ bovine _ ,” Sparrow muttered, but dutifully scourgified her robes and spelled the smell off of her.

Larkin rolled her eyes. “I didn’t  _ rub  _ myself on her. Clover just wanted to say hi!” And some of the hair  _ might _ have come from the hippogriff she’d greeted, too. 

She’d found a small colony of Mokes that hadn’t been there before the end of the last term, and the size-changing lizards were  _ beautiful!  _ A silvery green that would make any Slytherin proud.

Larkin absolutely could not neglect to greet the Hogwarts family of griffin.

That would have been unimaginably rude!

She’d heard at least one centaur, too, so they knew she was back in their forest, as well.

It had been a very productive morning indeed.

Kestrel eyed her blearily. “Do we even want to know?” she asked, voice hoarser than it would have been had she actually slept an appropriate amount.

“About what?” Larkin asked distractedly, serving herself second breakfast.

“That look on your face. It usually means you’ve been doing something that would give the professors heart attacks,” she elaborated, wearily waving her fork in a pattern that was probably supposed to be descriptive.

“You left Sam in our dorm this morning,” Sparrow re-joined the conversation, cradling a cup of steaming tea in both hands. “She was sleeping on your bed, so I left her to it.”

Kestrel noisily dropped her fork.

“Oh no,” she whispered, gaze unfocused. “I forgot to warn them about not sitting on snakes.”

Larkin smiled bemusedly at her a moment, trying to figure out what that meant. “I’m sure it’ll turn out alright,” she said, settling on going for comforting, because that usually worked. “Most kids have a basic sense of self-preservation.”

“Unlike you,” Sparrow muttered under her breath, but Larkin did the polite thing and pretended not to have heard her.

“You’re right, Lark,” Kestrel nodded with that look on her face that meant she was  _ rationalising _ . “There are lessons that must be learned through experience. It’s character-building.”

Larkin nodded, because that was just common sense, wasn’t it?

“Madam Pomfrey is going to try and kill Sam again,” Sparrow commented idly.

Larkin almost choked on her toast. “She’s never tried to  _ kill _ her!” she objected. “She’s just… tried to confiscate her a few times,” she admitted with a displeased grimace. “But it was  _ not _ her fault when she bit that Gryffindor seventh year,” she defended her pet vehemently. “He tried to  _ curse her!” _ Which was just unforgivable, really.

“And the time before that?” Sparrow asked pointedly.

Larkin made a face at her. “People just need to be more conscious of their actions,” she sniffed.

“Five times,” Kestrel mumbled around the rim of her coffee mug. “I’m counting.”

“That’s just five times people have clearly deserved it,” Larkin said firmly, taking another bite of her toast. She stared evenly at the sleep-deprived girl while she chewed.

Only to be distracted by a small pack of Ravenclaw Firsties tentatively making their way into the room behind her.

They looked around, scanned the Ravenclaw table, spotted Kestrel, and instantly perked up. Like puppies.

Kestrel noticed her staring and glanced over her shoulder. 

“They’ve come,” she whispered. “They have come for me.” She sounded horrified and close to panic. 

Hedda picked up on it instantly and panicked as well, fluttering over to sit on Sparrow’s shoulder instead. Her hair was better for hiding inside.

Kestrel eyed the underside of the table longingly, but seemed to silently acknowledge that the kids had already seen her and it was too late to hide.

Larkin felt her grin  _ grow _ .

“Have you made friends, Kess?” she questioned with an offensive amount of cheer.

“No,” she replied. “I have made  _ kids _ .”

“What? With whom?” Larkin gasped in mock-outrage. “And I thought  _ I’d _ be your first pick!”

“Flitwick?” Kestrel muttered speculatively, abruptly causing both Larkin and Sparrow to choke.

Sparrow almost spat tea all over the table. It was uncharacteristically undignified.

“ _ What _ ,” she demanded in a strangled voice, hurriedly wiping tea from her chin. With a napkin, not her sleeve. 

Unlike others she could name, who were clearly raised by a pair of Nundu.

Larkin was too busy smothering her laughter into her hand to do anything else.

“Hm?” Kestrel asked, eyeing them both vaguely, only to straighten marginally, taking a deep breath and firming herself into something vaguely Responsible-Looking. 

“Good morning, children,” she greeted politely, kicking Larkin’s leg under the table.

How she managed it without hitting Sparrow -who was sitting between them- she didn’t know, but Larkin was silently impressed.

Larkin swallowed her mirth, but couldn’t wipe the grin off her face for anything.

She wouldn’t be able to  _ look _ at Flitwick without cackling like a lunatic all day, she just knew it.

Hopefully, Hufflepuff fifth years wouldn’t have Charms today.

“Morning, um,” one of the children, a girl with bright brown eyes, said with an excited smile, only to falter when she realised she wasn’t sure of Kestrel’s name.

“Kestrel Hightower,” Sparrow supplied her, having reclaimed her composure. “That’s this disaster’s name.”

“Oh!” The girl’s smile brightened. “Good morning, Miss Hightower!” she greeted properly.

“Please just call me Kestrel. Or Kess, even,” Kestrel groaned. 

“Okay, Miss Kess!”

Kestrel groaned again, looking like she was regretting everything. Intensely. “You found your way to the Great Hall,” she finally said, motioning at the group of five to take a seat.

Sparrow shifted, so that her arm was leaning against Kestrel. Moral support and all that, at least in the face of the enemy. 

The roasting would commence later.

“It wasn’t that hard,” one of the boys said confidently.

Kestrel squinted at him, before something like recognition lit her blood-shot eyes. She was pretty sure that was the future quidditch player.

“What did you think of Ralf?” Larkin asked before Sparrow could drag out the boring pleasantries that were polite but ultimately meaningless.

All the first years straightened and turned to stare at her.

Several of them blinked, and one boy had an even stronger reaction. He was also the one who said something.

“Is that a spell? Your eyes?” he asked, his own eyes open wide. 

Larkin’s smile turned into something less manic and more genuine. “Afraid not; this is the real deal.” She winked at him. “Family trait.”

“You’re a Dunbar!” the girl from earlier exclaimed excitedly. “Daddy said there was one at Hogwarts and I-” she seemed to catch herself, because the rush of words cut off abruptly and her face coloured bright red as she stared at Larkin in something like horror.

Larkin laughed and waved a hand at her. “It’s fine. Larkin Dunbar,” she introduced herself. “Feel free to ask me any questions about magical creatures; chances are, I’ll be able to answer them.” She studied the girl more carefully a moment, before she managed to place her features. “You’re a Stump, aren’t you?”

Larkin was fairly sure they’d had a Minister for Magic at one point. She only knew that because the guy had all but formed the current version of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

Dad spoke about it sometimes, and the name had stuck.

Partly because it sounded strange, even by wizarding standards.

The girl nodded, straightened, and curtsied properly. “My name is Hester. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Dunbar.”

Larkin laughed. “Call me Larkin, little fwooper!”

“If you have any questions about creatures,” Kestrel spoke up, “Larkin’s the best source in the entire castle. She even helps Professor Kettleburn with Care of Magical Creatures classes.” Because she certainly didn’t particularly need them to  _ learn _ .

That successfully diverted attention to Larkin. Half of the tiny people - had they been this small when  _ they _ started school here? - immediately latched onto Larkin, badgering her with questions. It was  _ adorable _ . There was a boy with  _ squeaky shoes _ , and she was sure she’d be able to hear his approach from two corridors away.

More time to walk in the other direction.

“Forget it,” Kestrel announced abruptly before pulling out a vial and downing the contents. 

She looked remarkably more energised when it was done.

“Starting the year with Get-Up-And-Go Essence?” Sparrow asked quietly. “ _ Kestrel _ .”

“Kestrel’s got a lot of interesting things to teach, kiddies, but don’t follow her example,” Larkin lectured impertinently to the Firsties, who sent Kestrel confused looks.

They were adorable. 

“What was that stuff you drank, Miss Kess?” Hester Stump asked curiously.

“Basically, magical coffee,” Kestrel answered.

Well, Larkin reflected, she wasn’t wrong.

She wouldn’t be able to sleep for the rest of the week, though, considering she’d downed the whole bottle. That wasn’t exactly healthy - the mind needed time to rest.

Kestrel gave a shrug and a smile in reaction to Larkin’s worried frown.

A boy started asking her about Quidditch teams and whether first years were  _ really  _ not allowed on the team, and Kestrel turned her attention to her charges. 

Larkin continued to watch her, splitting her attention between the children badgering her and her two friends.

Lessons hadn’t even begun and Kess was already showing signs of needing an  _ intervention _ .

“Miss Dunbar, Miss Fawley,” a familiar voice jarred her out of her thoughts and Larkin turned to Professor Sprout with a smile.

“Good morning, professor,” she greeted.

“No unfortunate incidents on your back-to-school mad dash around the grounds?” Sprout asked with a smile that was only  _ mildly _ strained around the edges.

“Nope!” Her smile stretched into a grin. “Everything was in order.”

“Excellent. Your timetables, girls,“ Sprout said, handing both Larkin and Sparrow their schedules for the year.

“Thank you very much, professor,” Sparrow, ever polite, said without pause.

“You’re very welcome, dear,” the witch patted Sparrow on the shoulder, and then turned back to her own table, to continue handing out the rest of the time-tables. “I believe Professor Flitwick will be with you shortly, Miss Hightower,” she added over her shoulder with a friendly smile at Kestrel, who smiled and nodded.

“Let’s see, then,” Larkin declared, turning her attention to the schedule in her hand. “Double Herbology with Gryffindor first thing after breakfast. Nice.”

“That’s on tomorrow,” Sparrow corrected her with a snort.

“Damn it,” Larkin drawled, smirking sarcastically. “I was hoping for the best Tuesday ever, but I’ll have to settle for the best Wednesday. Care of Magical Creatures is today, though!”

Several of the Firsties giggled at her, making her smirk widen.

“History with Gryffindor first, today,” Sparrow announced. “Then Care with your favorite Professor.”

“Ugh,” was Larkin’s lackluster reaction. 

“I’m shocked,” Kestrel told her lightly. “I was sure you’d end up marrying Kettleburn one day.”

All of them turned up to stare at the man in question up at the head table.

He was old enough to be their grandfather, and life hadn’t treated him all that kindly either. He’d lost more than one limb to his passion already.

Larkin snorted. “Not about the last thing, but about the having History first thing,” Larkin told her distractedly, trying not to sound too sullen. “Also, I just know Rookwood’s going to be even more of an arse now he’s a prefect. And if we’re with the Gryffindors, then  _ you’re _ with the Slytherins!”

Sparrow offered her a one-armed hug. (Seeing as the other one was still occupied with providing moral support.)

“Well, if he tries anything, you have Defence on Wednesday with him, and you’re not exactly renowned for your aim, Lark.”

One of the tiny girls giggled as Sparrow winked at her. 

“What’s after Care?”

“Double Transfiguration with Gryffindor.”

“That’s bound to be interesting,” Larkin mused, thinking it over. Transfiguration was admittedly one of her favourite classes. “Do you think  _ they _ ’ll try anything?”

“To us specifically? This early in the year?” Sparrow inquired mildly, though she looked speculative. “I doubt it. And they wouldn’t dare in front of McGonagall,” she added firmly.

“They’re more likely to go for something large-scale first, if they stay true to form,” Kestrel put in, briefly turning away from her Firsties to join in.

Flitwick came wandering by at that point, providing Kestrel and all the Firsties with their timetables with a cheery greeting to all of them.

“It’s nice to see you three again,” he piped excitedly at Larkin, Kestrel and Sparrow, before he hurried on, eager to provide all his Ravenclaws with their schedules.

“Are you walking the kiddies to their classroom?” Larkin asked, turning to look at Kestrel.

All the First Years sitting next to them fell quiet to listen expectantly.

Kestrel grumbled wordlessly under her breath, scanning the table. “I think I’ll leave that to Ethan, actually,” she said blandly, spotting the boy further down the Hall. “Kids, grab him and tell him what his job is. Don’t let go even if he tries to run. Someone grab a banana, you can give it to him when his job is done. Also, tell him first lesson of the day is Transfiguration.”

“Yes, Miss Kess!” the firsties chorused, a particularly cheeky one adding a salute. Then they ran and all but tackled Ethan, dragging him out of the hall. Kestrel nodded to herself for a job well done.

Larkin laughed and tugged her friends with her; they should go, too, if they wanted to get to History and Transfiguration respectively early enough to grab seats together. Or with someone they’d not mind working with.

It was a largely uneventful day.

Unlike every other start of term, though, there was one distinct difference.

“Is it just me or are we getting an awful lot of homework?” Sparrow wondered with a sigh, all three of them walking to the Great Hall together for lunch.

“And it’s only the first day,” Kestrel whined.

“It feels counterproductive to effective learning, honestly,” Larkin agreed, already making a list in her head of which assignments to start on first.

She could deduce that this was a trend that would keep up throughout the day, and she already knew which subjects they’d have.

.

“See you at dinner, Kess,” Larkin said distractedly when they reached an intersecting corridor, which would take Kestrel to her next appointment; she had Herbology with Slytherin, and Larkin strongly suspected she’d spend it on the lookout for Rookwood and his cronies.

Well, just the cronies. Rookwood was in the Hospital Wing because his nose had been accidentally transfigured into a cactus. Apparently Kestrel got  _ confused _ by Vanishing theory so much that she accidentally invented a whole new spell.

Larkin would have to ask for the incantation later. 

But those  _ jerks _ wouldn’t let an opportunity to get one of the trio alone slip by unnoticed. Especially when they had to avenge Rookwood from being hexed by a  _ mudblood _ .

Larkin worried, but hoped Ethan and the other Claws would stay sharp and protect their own.

“Miss Fawley, Miss Dunbar, please take your seats,” Professor McGonagall asked them when they stepped into her classroom. Most of the Gryffindors were already there, which left the rest of them to pick from the unoccupied seats.

Larkin went straight for the two that were left in the first row, towing Sparrow with her.

Not that Sparrow was resisting. If anything, she was indulging her with an amused smile.

They ended up next to Evans and her best friend, the one who was not an utter prat, Marlene McKinnon. 

“Marles,” Sparrow whispered, nodding a greeting to the Scottish girl.

“Birdie.”

Evans got a friendly nod as well, but not more, because Professor McGonagall started the lesson then. 

“Welcome back. Please hand in your summer assignments at the end of class. As you are aware, this is your OWL year. Anyone who wishes to continue studying Transfiguration next year must achieve at least an Exceeds Expectations in their examination at the end of next term. 

“Today, we will begin with Vanishment spells. To that purpose, Mr. Black, Mr. Potter, please give each of your fellow students a snail. The goal is to Vanish it completely by the end of this lesson.”

-x-x-x-

After dinner, Sparrow left the other two to their own devices, to turn to her unofficial duties.

She wrote a quick letter announcing her safe arrival at Hogwarts - and nothing of importance in addition to that - to her parents. 

They’d be expecting her owl.

Then she spelled the dorm door to chime as soon as someone reached for the doorknob, so as to give her a little warning in case Larkin or Amelia returned unexpectedly.

As soon as the spell had come into effect, Snitch appeared by her side. 

“Lady Bird, I’s got your special mail,” he told her, handing over a thick packet of parchment, wrapped up in red paper. It was tied with a neat little piece of string. 

Snitch took his unofficial duties very seriously. 

“Thank you, Snitch.”

Sparrow raised her left eyebrow when he stuck around. 

Usually, Snitch liked to stalk Hedda, Empress Cat, Gwen -her owl- or even Sam for a bit. Recently, he’d gotten a little obsessed with staking out her betrothed, in addition. 

For security purposes only, of course.

“Lady Bird’s Black be writing invitations to Lady Bird,” Snitch reported, nose wrinkled. “Black be wanting to meet for tea.” 

Speaking of felines, her massive furry icon settled into her lap, purring and butting her chin with her head. 

Sparrow absentmindedly petted her regal familiar. 

Well, well, wasn’t this interesting?

“Lady Bird be expecting mail in the morning.”

“Thank you for warning me. You’ve definitely earned a treat, Snitch.”

Snitch bowed deeply, a proud, pleased smile stretching his mouth. 

He was a study in contradictions.

Sparrow settled comfortably against her headboard, a stack of cushions against her back and with her cat in her lap. First things first, she thought, opening the evening package. 

She cross read the pages first, sorting out what was most important and what was less so. 

Then she grabbed her notebook, a green leather-bound thing with gold lettering spelling her name. She  _ was _ a Fawley. 

Pressing her hand to the lock, she waited until her magic was recognized. 

Opening with a _ click _ , the pages turned on their own, until they reached the first free space.

Taking her goose quill, sharpened to a fine point, Sparrow began to jot down who had done which incriminating thing today. 

Who had cheated on their spouse, who had lost money gambling (and if possible how much), who had bought what (and where), who visited whom, and who’d contracted some sort of illness. Who’d opened a new business, who had been seen by whom, who was thinking of investing and in what. 

Who would be connected to whom by marriage soon, who was being courted and why. 

Who was definitely inducted into the Knights of Walpurgis, who was thinking about joining them, who was repulsed by their stated mission. 

The information was separated by family, to keep some kind of organization alive.

In another life, she’d have been uncomfortable spying on others. Possibly even using the information in the future, to further her own cause. 

But this was necessary if Kestrel and Larkin were to survive unscathed. If they wanted their plans to have even a chance to succeed. 

Sparrow knew they’d happily commit murder for her. So who was she to squeak at a little networking, a little politeness, a little sprinkle of spying?

Possibly a smidge of blackmail?

Sparrow was a Fawley, from the glittering jeweled hair clip her brother had given her, to the stack of languages she had under her belt. From the flamboyance to the preference for the Long Game.

And she’d been playing for over ten years now.

Some people would be up for a rude awakening when she finally began to show her hand.

A chime went off and Sparrow easily slid her illicit correspondence out of sight, covering it with the Transfiguration book she’s placed on her bed beforehand and a new roll of parchment.

Larkin gave her an absent wave in greeting and went straight to the shower.

Sparrow wasn’t sure she wanted to know what she’d done to end up smelling like that.

-x-x-x-

Kestrel wasn’t particularly early to breakfast the next morning, and she was fully expecting both Sparrow and Larkin to be there when she arrived.

Distractedly taking a seat beside Sparrow at the Hufflepuff table, she didn’t immediately notice that Larkin wasn’t there.

“Where’s Lark?” she questioned, feeling mildly stumped. She would have thought Larkin would want to keep close to Sparrow, with the whole Regulus Issue hanging over their heads.

“I’m not sure,” Sparrow said, putting down her tea mug and turning more fully to her. “She wandered off.”

“But not before loaning you Sammy, I see,” Kestrel commented, reaching out to pat the king cobra fondly on the head.

Samantha was draped around Sparrow’s shoulders like a luxurious shawl, her head resting on one of her own coils.

“We have Herbology first thing today, so I very much doubt she’ll miss it,” Sparrow huffed with a small, fond smile. “And here, I finished it last night,” she added, pulling a roll of parchment from her bookbag and handed it to Kestrel.

“Nice.” She grinned. Looked like the year’s first edition of the  _ Hogwash _ was well underway of getting published.

She needed Larkin to finish that article on the Creatures covered in Third year CoMC, too, but they were right on schedule!

“Anything happen I need to know about?” Kestrel asked when she’d tucked Sparrow’s fashion column away and gotten started on breakfast.

“I have an appointment for the first Hogsmeade weekend, it seems,” Sparrow said casually, slipping her another piece of parchment.

Smaller, this time. More a note than anything else, but still very fancy and official looking.

Kestrel threw an eye on it and consequently almost choked on her cereal.

“You’re kidding,” she managed in a half-strangled voice, absently wiping milk from her chin and sending Sparrow an incredulous look. “Think his parents put him up to this?”

“We shall see,” Sparrow said primly, lifting her mug to take another sip of her tea, looking impressively unruffled and composed.

Kestrel narrowed her eyes speculatively. “Well, you’re not going alone,” she decided. That might actually be a good opportunity to challenge Black to that duel she’d been thinking about.

If he fucked up.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sparrow said, smiling at her. Her gaze slid passed Kestrel’s face to something behind her and subsequently almost dropped her mug, a truly fascinating series of expressions flickering across her face, before it settled on long-suffering.

Kestrel, more than intrigued, turned around.

Larkin was walking towards them, smiling absently and not seeming the  _ least _ aware of the level of attention focused on her person.

The reason for which…

She was black.

Literally.

She was black from head to toe; hair, skin, her robes. All of her was drenched in… was that  _ ink? _

“What happened to you?” Kestrel demanded, wondering if she should laugh or plan a murder.

“Peeves wished me a good start of term,” Larkin said easily, making as if to take the seat next to Sparrow, only for their friend to make an outraged, protesting noise. (Not unlike one Empress Cat would make.) “The feud is still going strong.”

“You are  _ not _ coming near me right now, Lark!” she said firmly, eyeing the growing puddle of ink dripping onto the floor by Larkins’s feet with intense dislike.

There were footsteps leading into the Great Hall.

“Why not?” Larkin grinned, her bright orange eyes standing out even more against her darkened skin. “I’m actually fairly impressed he managed to soak me so thoroughly. Even my hair is black!” she chirped, casually (threateningly) moving closer to Sparrow while she was at it.

“Larkin Dunbar, don’t you  _ dare _ touch me right no-”

Larkin’s hand was on Sparrow’s cheek before she could finish her sentence, leaving a perfect handprint behind.

Larkin gave a delighted laugh.

While Sparrow remained frozen in shock a couple of seconds longer, Larkin reached out to touch her fingers to her face again, giving her enhanced eyebrows, which stood out starkly against her honey blonde hair, and looked tempted to add a curly moustache.

Kestrel smothered a laugh, grabbed Larkin’s free hand, and pressed it to her own cheek. “We match now!” she said with glee, watching as Sparrow slowly gathered herself, hand reaching towards her wand. “Run. Run like your life depends on it, Lark.”

Larkin was still grinning like a fool, even when Sparrow calmly got to her feet, drawing her wand with slow, deliberate movements.

“I love you, Sparrow,“ Larkin said glibly, threw her arms around the girl in a tight, full-body hug, smearing some ink on Sam while she was at it, and then ran away from her with a wild cackle.

Sparrow produced a high-pitched, scandalized noise and  _ stalked _ after her.

“You are going to  _ regret that, Larkin! _ ” she shouted after the girl, and Kestrel smothered her laughter into her breakfast. “This is my favorite uniform, you absolute  _ heathen! _ ”

She loved these dorks.

-x-x-x-

From the _ Hogwash, 10/8/1975 _

**Dumbledore Sets Trends At Welcoming Feast **

** _by Hawkeye_ **

_ World-renowned style icon Albus Dumbledore, our very own headmaster, did it again: This year’s Welcoming Feast at Hogwarts served not only a truly stunning array of food, but a feast for the eyes as well: _

_ Pink! Flowery! Spritely! The headmaster’s robes impress with bold colour choices and loud patterns that are sure to take the fashion world by storm. The robes in an asymmetrical cut flatter the Supreme Mugwump’s tall figure and also provide many practical pockets for stashing sweets and utilities such as quills and vials. And not only that - once again the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot proves his supreme skill at accessorising. Professor Dumbledore’s shoes of choice are truly stunning heeled boots of mauve colour with golden laces in the shape of tiny serpentine dragons (see detail photography). The skilled observer will note that these do indeed match his half-moon glasses. The outfit is completed by a classic raspberry-coloured hat worn at exactly the right angle, expertly embroidered with rainbow cherry blossoms, which are enchanted to move. _

_ Rounding off this look is the iconic hairstyle. Often has Professor Dumbledore’s silver hair been compared to the brilliant mane of a unicorn. On this evening, he wore it in intricate braids with pearls threaded in - the detail photograph reveals these to be engraved with tiny flower motifs! The attention to detail is nothing short of  _ breathtaking _ . _

_ Us fashion experts from the  _ Hogwash _ applaud Headmaster Dumbledore for his choices in clothing and accessories. Truly iconic, 10/10, would recommend to a friend. _

#    
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Career Meetings. Larkin stirs up some trouble because why do what everyone else does?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No copyright infringement intended.

-4-

  
The first weeks of term flew by in a flurry of near overwhelming homework assignments, running to various extracurricular activities, if one was Larkin, and attempts to establish some sort of sane rhythm for the rest of the school year.

  
Sleep was apparently important to some people.

However, this also brought them to the door of their respective Head of House, to talk about their future.

  
Professor Sprout had given Sparrow an appointment right after Amelia, probably to work herself up the chain of trouble and annoyance, leaving Larkin for last.

  
Sparrow also thought to herself that Sprout considered her appointment a mere formality and nothing more, since The News had been all over the castle in a day.

  
What need did a future Mrs. Black have for a Career Meeting anyway? 

  
“Please be seated, Miss Fawley.” Professor Sprout smiled at her, offering a cup of her favorite tea and a cookie.

  
Chocolate chip and pecan nut. Homemade, too.

“Thank you, professor.”

  
“Have you considered any particular field of study you’d like to pursue?”

  
As a matter of fact, Sparrow had indeed done so. At great length.

  
In a world where she would have had a choice in her own life, she could see herself become the Department Head of the Department for International Magical Cooperation. The very same job her brother was supposed to be destined for; according to their parents’ expectations.

  
Sparrow had the experience from years of networking at Pureblood events; her diplomacy skills were outstanding, if she may say so herself. She wasn’t afraid of a little espionage and the occasional blackmail. Of battles waged by sharp tongues and sharper words, hidden in a shining, glittery shell; to distract and redirect. 

  
Meanwhile Charlie was a wet blanket; a house of cards ready to fold any second with the slightest breeze from the wrong direction.

  
No, she was not bitter at all.

  
“I want to take as many of my NEWT classes as possible next year.”

  
Professor Sprout couldn’t quite hide the way her eyes widened, but her expression firmed up quickly. There was sympathy in the depth of her warm gaze, but there wasn’t anything her Head of House could do about her parents’ decision and they both knew it.

  
“You are aware that you need certain scores on your exams to continue studying?” she inquired delicately.

  
Sparrow nodded. 

  
“Your current grades aren’t bad, however they also don’t necessarily meet the requirements set by, for example, Professors McGonagall or Flitwick.” And it looked like that statement was mildly painful for Sprout to make.

  
Sparrow was aware of that. How could she not? She’d engineered it that way for the last four years. With care and meticulous attention to detail.

  
Sprout looked contemplative for a moment, before she gave a firm nod to herself and straightened up.

  
“Well, my dear, if that is what you want, then I’m sure you’ll be up to the task. It’ll be hard work,” she warned, eyes shining with pride when Sparrow did nothing more than nod. “Now, are there any careers you’re interested in?”

  
“A few, but I’m realistic enough I figure it’s best to just keep my options as open as is possible, professor,” Sparrow replied evenly.

  
“And the best way to do that is by getting as many OWLs and NEWTs as possible,” Sprout sighed sadly, but nodded her understanding.

  
She dug through the piles of brochures on her desk until she’d collected a selection of the ones she wanted.

  
“These contain guidelines for the subjects you are weaker in, Sparrow,” she said, handing them over. “They contain several tips on how to improve and I’m sure we can find you a few tutors if you’re not comfortable asking your friends.”

  
Sparrow smiled and accepted the pamphlets, because Sprout’s concern and willingness to help was genuine and came straight from the heart. She was a wonderful Head of House and probably deserved better than having to deal with Sparrow’s special brand of playing games.

  
Or Larkin.

  
Neither of them were the typical Hufflepuff.

  
A least she had Amelia to balance out their crazy a bit.

  
They went on to discuss the subjects she supposedly had to work harder in and Sprout advised her to talk to the individual professors.

  
Just before she could leave, Sprout asked, “Out of curiosity, which career would you have chosen if you let yourself, dear?”

  
The corners of Sparrow’s mouth quirked up, blue-green eyes shining with a hint of the mischief and intelligence that bubbled constantly behind her facade.

  
“Something to do with diplomacy would suit me quite well, I think.” 

  
“An astute observation,” Sprout agreed with a sad little smile. “I think that would be very fitting indeed, Miss Fawley.”  


“Thank you,” Sparrow returned softly, and the meeting was effectively over, with Sprout sending her on her way with a warm wish of good luck and an open offer to extend any help she might need.

  
Outside her Head of House’s office, instead of Larkin, Sparrow met the nervous eyes of Peter Pettigrew. Who looked about ready to wet himself in fear.

  
Sparrow was surrounded by wet blankets, wasn’t she?

  
Thankfully, neither of her friends could be claimed to be one of them.

  
-x-x-x-

  
“My life goal is to be like you, professor,” Larkin announced eagerly the moment she stepped into the classroom, leaving a confused Gryffindor behind her on the other side of the closed door.

  
"Miss Dunbar, you are supposed to have your meeting with Professor Sprout," Professor McGonagall said with pursed lips. “You are not, despite general opinions among the students, a member of my House.”

  
“I swapped with Pettigrew,” Larkin shared shamelessly, bouncing further into the room to take a seat in the chair in front of McG’s desk.

  
If possible, McGonagall looked even more disapproving.

  
The woman momentarily closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then fixed Larkin with a speculative look.

  
“I hope you realise that I don’t have all the necessary information about your classes, Dunbar,” she told her evenly.

  
“That’s fine,” Larkin smiled, “we all know I’m going into the family business, anyway.”  
McGonagall folded her hands together on her desktop, eyebrow arching as she studied her intently.

  
“Then why, Miss Dunbar, are you here?” she asked, stressing the location specifically.

  
“Because you’re my favourite professor and I greatly admire you,” Larkin responded without so much as a pause.

  
“I would have thought that honour would be ascribed to Professor Kettleburn.”

  
“Eh.” Larkin tipped a hand back and forth in a indecisive manner. “Silvanus is cool, but I like you better.”

  
“Must I remind you again, Miss Dunbar, to address your professors with due respect?” McGonagall asked with a heavy sigh. It was a subject they’d revisited every year.

  
“I’m still of the firm belief it creates an unnecessary rift between the students and the teachers, pronouncing the difference in both power and status between the two, when a closer, less formal relationship would be much more beneficial.” Larkin smiled thinly.

  
McGonagall huffed quietly and eyed her with wry amusement.

  
She seemed to accept that, for now, this was indeed happening.

  
“What career goals are you aiming for, Miss Dunbar?” McGonagall finally asked.

  
Larkin smiled. “I’ve been thinking about following Kestrel to the Aurors,” she revealed, and McGonagall momentarily froze with something like a smidge of horror.

  
“I’ll be perfectly honest with you, Dunbar. After the last four years in this castle, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said dryly, eyes narrowing a fraction as she studied her face, no doubt trying to determine if she was pulling her leg or not. “I have nothing to comment on your skills or dedication, but you have trouble staying within the lines of any rules drawn within your presence, and I can’t imagine it being any different with the Law.”

  
Larkin hummed quietly. “You know, Kestrel said something similar when I brought it up,” she admitted.

  
Larkin could follow the rules, damn it. It wasn’t her fault most of them were stupid and unnecessary, though.

  
“Do you have any goals that won’t ultimately see you either fired or in jail, Larkin?” McGonagall pressed on determinedly.

  
Larkin grinned, unable to entirely suppress the amused snigger.

  
McGonagall huffed and shook her head. “When you first arrived here at Hogwarts, you expressed a desire to pursue a certain Transfiguration skill. Is that still something you’re interested in?”

  
“Absolutely,” Larkin straightened up. No need to share the specifics about that, though. “But with the changing political climate, I think there are more important things to focus on right now.”

  
“Such as?” McGonagall asked, all serious now. 

  
“Fighting back. Resisting. Protecting people.” Larkin frowned into the middle-distance, momentarily lost in thought. “Sparrow and Kestrel are both going to be in the crossfire whether they want it or not.”

  
“Your dedication to your friends is admirable, Larkin, but such as it is, we’re here to discuss your future.” McGonagall’s stern expression softened a little nevertheless.

  
“My future was always going to be interwoven with theirs.” Larkin shrugged. “As for the NEWTs I’d like to take…” she trailed off pensively. “Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology are given.” Those would be easy, regardless. “Defence; everyone should, at this point. Potions, if I can manage it. Transfigurations. Runes.” Those were all important to her in various capacities. 

  
“Flitwick tells me you’re one of his better students,” McGonagall said into the following silence. “Not Charms?”

  
Larkin shrugged. “Kess is going to take it and we study independently a lot.”

  
McGonagall didn’t look particularly reassured.

  
“Professor Minnie, do you think Divination would be a useful NEWT?” 

  
“Do not call me that, Miss Dunbar, or I’ll deduct points and give you a detention to drive home the message,” McGonagall told her firmly, nostrils flaring with irritation. “As for your question,” her mouth flattened in distaste, “I’m sure there are better people to ask than myself, concerning that particular subject.”

  
“I’m not overly interested in predicting the future, necessarily,” Larkin explained, watching the older woman with some amusement. “But Divination has some interesting uses.”

  
“I wasn’t aware you’d covered scrying yet,” McGonagall huffed, pursing her lips at her, looking like she knew perfectly well Larkin had set that up to sound as flimsy as possible on purpose.

  
“I’ve read ahead, just a little.” Larkin grinned, unapologetic. “There’s also another few niche skills and talents I can see myself taking to, with a bit of guidance.”

  
“It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind,” McGonagall concluded, sounding reluctantly amused. “That’s quite the impressive list of subjects.”

  
“It will be a lot,” Larkin agreed. “But it’ll be worth it in the long run.” 

  
Her expression darkened at the thought of whatever the future would hold for them. Either they’d manage to change things for the better, or… or things would stay the same. Or end up worse.

  
“However enlightening this conversation has been, Dunbar, you’re still going to have inform Pomona of your choices. I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t intimidate my students out of their appointments in the future,” she said, giving her a strict, unamused look.

  
“No promises, ma’am,” Larkin chirped, but dutifully got to her feet. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you can be pretty intimidating, McG, and I think Pettigrew ended up benefiting from his talk with Sprout.” She didn’t feel the slightest lick of regret.

  
Sprout was an amazing, motherly Head of House, and she had a touch that really benefited the uncertain, anxious students.

  
Which Pettigrew most certainly was, with an added dose of self-confidence issues and an inferiority complex the size of the Great Hall.

  
“Thank you for indulging me, professor,” Larkin added on her way to the door. “It was nice talking to you, and I’ll send in the next one now.”

  
“Do that, thank you,” McGonagall confirmed, sounding tolerantly long-suffering.  
Larkin gave her a wave over her shoulder, opened the door and almost walked smack into Sirius Black.

  
What an interesting coincidence.

  
“Dunbar?” he questioned dumbly, staring at her in shock. “What are you doing here? You’re not a Gryffindor!” He was starting to look scandalized. “And where the hell is Peter!?” he added.

  
“Come in and take a seat, Black,” McGonagall’s voice said tiredly.

  
Larkin grin-smirked at the boy and went on her way.

  
Time to go find out how Sparrow’s talk had gone and see if there’d been any interesting side-effects from shunting Pettigrew into the Badger Den with little to no warning.

  
-x-x-x-

“Professor Flitwick is waiting for you in his office, Kestrel,” Pandora informed her, eyes absent as if already planning her next experiment.

  
She probably was, knowing her.

  
“Thanks, Dora,” she answered, stashing quill and notebook in her extensive pockets once more. Absently flexing her fingers, she knocked on the door before entering. “Hello, Professor,” she greeted.

  
“Kestrel, dear, have a seat! You prefer green tea, correct?” Her favourite professor flicked his wand and from his pretty tea can floated a stream of tea into an equally pretty tea cup.   
She nodded, feeling awkward as she took the cup and prayed that she wouldn’t spill any.  
Thankfully, it was charmed to be the perfect temperature, so at least there was no danger of burning her mouth.

  
“How are you today, my dear?” Flitwick squeaked.

  
“Good,” she replied. “There’s a lot of homework, but it isn’t taking over my life right now.”

  
“And your prefect duties?” he asked, hiding a fairly obvious grin behind his own cup.  
Kestrel gave him a haunted look back. “There are so many tiny people.” Then she nearly choked on her tea, remembering her head of house’s size, “Not that there’s anything wrong with tiny people! I love tiny people! They’re adorable!”

  
Just kill her now.

  
Flitwick chuckled. “Well, you know I make a point to see if the little ones have settled in, yes?”

  
She nodded mutely and tried to tell herself that the heat in her cheeks came from the tea, not her own social incompetence. 

  
“They’ve all been telling me how great you are!” Flitwick revealed excitedly. “That you answer all their questions, that you comfort them and help them write letters, that you tuck them in at night-”

  
Kestrel set her cup down and hid her burning face in her hands. 

  
Flitwick chuckled good-naturedly. “Now, no need for that, my dear! You should be proud of yourself, you’re doing wonderfully!”

  
“Thanks, Professor,” Kestrel answered weakly. “Uhm. So. Career meeting?”

  
“Of course, of course.” He grew serious. “What are your career aspirations, my dear?”

  
Kestrel leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “It’s hard.”

  
“What is?”

  
“The-” she gestured with a hand aimlessly. Forming sentences with her mouth wasn’t her thing. Writing came so much easier. “Planning thing. With all that’s going on. I stalk the muggle newspapers, you know?”

  
“Ah,” he said quietly.

  
“And there are so many unexplained deaths. So many mysterious explosions. Buildings collapsing for no reason.” She gave him a haunted look. “It’s hard,” she repeated.

  
He sighed quietly and reached over to pat her hand. “My dear, I can’t tell you that everything will be alright by the time you leave school. But I assure you that we are doing everything we can. For now, the advice I give you is this: You’re a child. Enjoy it a little longer.”

  
She managed a small smile. “Thanks, Professor.”

  
He nodded and smiled back. “Wonderful. Let’s get back on track! What do you hope to do with your future?”

  
“I want to have a nice house, a garden with a hammock, and I want to read and write all day,” she sighed wistfully.

  
Flitwick was one of the few who knew about her running the Hogwash. Xeno had never announced his successor, considering the backlash he’d gotten over the more… controversial articles they’d run. At present, only her friends, Flitwick, McGonagall, and Dumbledore were aware of the identity of Hawkeye.

  
Flitwick didn’t know about the novels she’d published and which had become bestsellers quickly, as romance novels full of forbidden love and generous sprinklings of smut were a barely filled niche in the book market and fulfilled all the literary needs of the unsatisfied wives populating the wizarding world.

  
As soon as she’d had gold pouring in though, she’d stopped with the romance plots and started writing somewhat dystopian novels full of sharp social criticism. Some Purebloods had even tried to get them blacklisted - but that was just good publicity and if one wanted to know what the debate was about, they had to buy the books.

  
It was a good thing her post box filtered curses nowadays.

  
She was probably on some kind of Death Eater hit list already.

  
“That sounds like a very nice dream,” Flitwick said encouragingly.

  
“Yeah. A dream.” She smiled grimly. “I’ll sign up for the Auror program after graduation. My friends won’t have the time to, and one of us needs to have combat skills.”

  
Flitwick nodded sadly. “It’s not what you would choose if we were at peace,” he pointed out quietly.

  
“I don’t like fighting,” she agreed. “But it’s not like the world cares. And I dislike seeing people hurt even more than violence.”

  
“I assume you know which courses you will need to take at NEWT level to get into the program?” the professor asked. “Your grades are good enough, though it may be a near-thing with Transfiguration, Kestrel.”

  
She nodded. “I’ll take Arithmancy and the extracurricular Advanced Arithmancy in addition.”  
“It would be a shame if you didn’t,” Flitwick commented, now looking cheerier. “Professor Vector sings your praises!”

  
It would have been embarrassing if it weren’t so - Kestrel had taken university level Maths courses in her previous life, for crying out loud!

  
“I’d like to continue with Runes as well, but I’m not certain I’ll have the time or energy for it,” she added. “Sparrow and Lark offered to tutor me, though, and I seem to learn best doing self-study in that field.”

  
“A shame,” Flitwick sighed. “Professor Babbling will be sad to lose you. But I’m sure she’d be amenable to assign you tasks to complete on your own time and assist you in your independent studies, if need be. I’ll talk to her, if you want?”

  
“That would be wonderful, sir,” Kestrel said gratefully. 

  
She felt strangely exhausted. But at the same time, relieved?

  
“It’s no trouble at all, dear,” Professor Flitwick answered warmly. “I believe that concludes our meeting. Feel free to come by if you need anything - my door is always open, Kestrel!”

“I know,” she said quietly. “Thank you, Professor.”

  
She stood awkwardly for a moment, sending him a questioning look because, was this it? Was she dismissed? He waved her off with a fond shake of his head.

  
Okay then.

“And Kestrel - NEWT students may ask me for tutoring in duelling,” he called after her, but the door was already falling shut behind her.

  
She took a deep breath, straightened.

Kestrel left to find her friends.

**Author's Note:**

> Can you figure out which SI is based on which author? - W


End file.
